


Saved Me

by later_than_the_rabbit



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Best Friends, Fluff, Friendship, Molly Hooper is mean, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes Has a Heart, Tattoos, Tumblr Prompt, Tumblr request, and jealous
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 17:56:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11719530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/later_than_the_rabbit/pseuds/later_than_the_rabbit
Summary: The new person on Baker Street sparks Sherlock’s interest from their first day and a friendship blooms that transforms Sherlock





	Saved Me

**Author's Note:**

> Request: HELLO! i have a request if you're intrested: sherlock xfem reader, where she's a 22 year old girl from down the street , edgy and very spiritual (with pastel hair and some tattoos and stuff) and Sherlock somehow becomes interested in her and they become v good friends with strong feelings for each other (doesnt have to be romantic) and everyone else are just like "???" about sherlock's new friend bc she's so different from him, even Molly is jealous lol thanks i love your content

Sherlock and John had just finished chasing a murderer that morning and were walking back to 221B. Sherlock immediately saw that something was happening on the street due to the large moving truck parked directly in front of 221B. He had at first scowled, his mood darkening by the idea of having a commotion outside of his flat for the next few hours after a case however, when he saw you, his interest was spiked and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Not in an attracted way mind you, but rather a curious one. He had seen people who looked like you before, there were hundreds of people with coloured hair in London, twenty at least with some resemblance of the lavender shade you wore, however you were the first he had seen with the unique undercut shown so blatantly to the world. The nape of your hair had been shaved in a geometrical pattern, displayed to the world as you had had your hair styled in a messy bun on the crown of your head. Your singlet was loose fitting, allowing a peek of the bandages and progressing tattoo on your back to show as well as the sleeve on your right arm, which featured feathers leading up to a broken pocket watch on your shoulder, the feathers dripping with some pale substance. You were wearing denim shorts due to the unexpected heat of the London day, which showed some of your tattoo on your left thigh, a rabbit’s lower half, a waistcoat beginning to show on the rabbits torso, the entire image presumably surrounded by bleeding roses. The morbid images were peculiar and only furthered Sherlock’s curiosity of you. 

As he and John had neared their door, he could hear your voice telling the moving men which building you were moving in, the sound carrying a certain air of superiority, much like how John’s voice changed when he pulled rank. You didn’t notice them until you had turned to pick up a box containing some of your clothes. You had greeted them politely after John introduced both him and Sherlock. Sherlock offered to help before John could, (to which John scoffed and looked at him with bewilderment etched upon his square face) but you had turned him down, saying that you were nearly done but thanking him all the same. After that you had wished them a good day and left to finishing unpacking. Sherlock was confused. People usually nearly always accepted his help when he asked in that tone but you had refused. He followed John into 221B with you at the front of his mind.

Since that day, you hadn’t ever really considered yourself involved with the self-proclaimed sociopath any more so than your neighbours, other than knowing his line of work and reading John’s blog from time to time. You just minded your own business on Baker Street, going down to a close tattoo parlour regularly to have your large back tattoo completed whilst you worked double shifts at a cafe on the street over. However unknown to you, you had been involved in Sherlock’s life since the very same day. It wasn’t until you were walking back from your job later one night when you would cross paths again and begin your close friendship.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

You had your deep mahogany scarf wrapped tightly around your neck, your coat buttoned with the collar up to shield your face further from the wind. You walked quickly down the streets to reach your warm home sooner when you heard footsteps trailing you. You took a glimpse in the reflective windows across the street and saw that a larger man in a hoodie was following you after coming out from seemingly nowhere. What was stranger still was that there was another man with a large coat following him. You shook your head and walked faster. Your home was only a couple blocks away now and you were sure that the hooded man wouldn’t try anything with the other person following them. You thought wrong.

The hooded man burst into a sprint and quickly caught up to you. He wrapped his hand around your waist harshly and moved behind you, pressing a knife to your throat before turning to the man, Sherlock as you could see now. “Not another step Mr. Holmes, or the pretty little girl gets it.” You scowled. You hated people seeing you as anything less than the proud and determined woman you were. ‘Little girl’ was one of those pet names that just couldn’t fail to get you worked up. You saw red as adrenaline began to surge through your blood.

“Little girl?!” You had grasped the man’s hand with the knife in it and quickly pulled it away from your neck before he could act. He struggled against you briefly as you twisted your body under his arm, bringing the knife and his arm around with you so that it was painfully close to breaking. “I am not... a…” The point of the knife pressed against his back as you kicked his knees to the ground, “...little…” you pulled his arm the last bit, hearing a satisfying crack echo through the street, “...girl!” the man’s wails quickly filled the street. He dropped the knife to the pavement so he could bring his arm around to a more comfortable position as you delivered a swift punch to his temple, knocking him clean out. You huffed out some breaths, brushing the bits of hair in your face out of your eyes before you picked up the man’s knife and headed over to Sherlock, who had stood stock still for the whole few seconds of fast-paced action.

“Y-you… what just… how?” Sherlock stuttered as you approached him, smiling a little at his halting speech. If he hadn’t been impressed by you before, he sure was now.

“I’ve been taking self-defence classes all my life. I can handle myself thanks so, no need to follow me anymore.” At this he stood up straighter and plucked the knife from your hands.

“For your information, I was following that man there who murdered his sister-in-law three days ago.” He popped up his collar against the wind and you whistled, low and clear.

“Wow really? I’ve taken down a few would-be rapists but never a murderer I don’t think. Or maybe I have. Sherlock right?” You extended your gloved hand to Sherlock, who grasped it in his own.

“Yes and you’re Y/N,” His eyes widened as he saw blood trickling from a small cut on the underside of your jaw, “And you’re bleeding.”

“Am I?” Sherlock reached out his hand and swiped his thumb over some of the blood from your neck.. “Would you look at that, I am. Don’t worry about it, I’ll patch myself up at home. Do I have to do anything now? I know you’re a detective; I’ve seen your friends blog. Do I need to go with you somewhere to be questioned?” Sherlock stood shocked at your dismissal of your injury, as if this had happened before. His interest in you grew as sirens approached quickly. Two police cars rounded the corner, followed by an ambulance. “Oh, never mind.” It was only now that he realised you had asked him a question that he didn’t answer. He huffed, handing you a clean handkerchief from his pocket so you could wipe away some of the blood.

“Lestrade’s late as usual.” Sherlock grumbled as he waited for one of the cars to slow to a stop near you two. From that car, two officers, one of them approaching you and Sherlock. You rocked on the balls of your feet as you waited for the man, presumably Lestrade to join you and Sherlock.

“You couldn’t just leave this to us could you Sherlock? Do you know how much paperwork this is going to take?” Lestrade sighed as he looked over at the man who was still unconscious and being handled by paramedics, a few officers keeping their eyes out in case he wakes again. When he turned back he saw that you were holding the kerchief to your neck. “Miss are you okay? We need a medic over here!”

“Oh no that’s not necessary, um, Detective Inspector. I’m fine.” You protested as Sherlock spoke over you.

“She’s fine and yes I know how you loath paperwork but don’t worry, hardly any will be required. He pulled a knife on her and she acted accordingly. Self-defence. Simple. I had nothing to do with his state this time.” Sherlock waved his hand out as he gestured to the man and to you before flouncing off to wait across the road. Lestrade looked to you with wide eyes, somewhat wary though he didn’t show it much.

“I’m sorry about him. I’m going to have to ask you a few questions before you go miss.” Lestrade had pulled out a small notepad and a pen as he began to ask you a couple of questions. Sherlock waited off to the side of the scene for the quarter of an hour you were interviewed for. When he saw you finishing up with Lestrade, he had marched back over and told Lestrade that he was taking you home and that he would come in tomorrow to give his statement, leaving with you in tow before Lestrade could argue.

You and Sherlock walked down some way, the sirens in the background dulling as you left. “I can walk myself home you know, but thanks anyway.” Sherlock glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his interest in you being concealed by his neutral features.

“My pleasure.” As you approached your building you fumbled in your pocket for your keys before Sherlock stopped you as he spoke. “No need for that Y/N. I’m sure you know John is a doctor, he will help you. I’m taking you to 221B so he can do just that.”

“I don’t want to put you out really Sherlock. I’ll be f-”

“Why do not let people help you?” Sherlock interrupted you quickly, making you stop in your tracks and look up at him. He looked down at his shoes, seeming somewhat embarrassed for his rudeness.

“Oh, um, I don’t know. Easier maybe? I’ve found I can get stuff done quicker by myself.” You shrugged as you answered his question before resuming walking down the street, Sherlock by your side.

“So you’ve fixed cuts before have you?”

“Oh loads of times. I’m always getting into accidents.”

“Like tonight.” Sherlock stopped this time, looking at you with something akin to surprise in his eyes, his eyebrow cocked. You laughed at his implication, it’s sound echoing through the empty street.

“Oh god no not like that. Like, I run into stuff all the time and cut myself when I cook, that sort of stuff. I once accidentally stapled through my finger once.” Sherlock’s look turned to horror as you listed some of the accidents that had resulted in some of your current injuries. You sliced open your hand whilst cooking, ran into a door and gave yourself a split lip when your alarm went off in the other room, fell in the shower whilst shaving and cut up the length of your calf. All Sherlock could hear running through his head was that you were a danger to yourself. He shook this voice out of his head and grabbed your hand, leading you to 221B. “Hey what are you doing, my flat’s in that building.”

“I told you, John is going to look at your cut, and your hand, and your calf and any other injuries you’ve given yourself.” 

“I’m fine, real-” Sherlock turned to you, his eyes cold and demanding as he looked at you. “Okay, I’ll go.” He nodded and continued to lead you to 221B.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

That night, John had looked at all of your self-inflicted injuries, fixing you up with some bandages and ointments to keep the wounds clean, all the while Sherlock had paced behind John looking at you, concerned. John had said that he was going to the pub that night with Greg after he had finished up with the case. After he left, you had ended up staying for dinner when Sherlock had asked you of the meaning behind your tattoos. You could see that he was intrigued by them so you pointed to each one as you explained and ate take-away. The feathers and pocket watch represented your brother. He died a few years ago due to his impulsiveness and ambition, which you had always related to the story of Icarus, hence the wax dripping from the feathers. The rabbit was obviously the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, so too were the roses around it. These, you said, were after your mother and father, who used to read you the fairytale when you were younger, before they died in a car crash when you were ten. Sherlock offered his condolences after hearing your story before speaking again. “What about the one on your back?”

“How did you know about that one?”

“I saw some of it and the bandages on the day you moved in.”

“Oh, well it’s still healing but my last session was last week so I should be good soon. It’s a bit hard to explain without seeing it.” Sherlock nodded as he ate some more of his Chinese. You took a sip of your drink before he spoke again, albeit more timid than he had been that evening.

“Would you show me once it’s healed?” He looked so unsure of himself in that moment, as if what he said was going to drive you away. Instead, you smiled and nodded.

“I’d love to. It’s hard for me to see it all and it’ll be nice for the first person to see it to be a friend.” Sherlock visibly brightened at your words, though he tried to contain it a little. Something about you just made him feel so many things. Protectiveness. Safety. Happiness and now friendship. Though he was still unsure.

“Friends?”

“Well yeah, I helped you catch a murderer, we’re having dinner together, learning about each other. I’d say we’re friends now.” You smiled brighter at Sherlock’s reaction, which was to smile wider and blush a little. You laughed when he moved to the kitchen quickly, bringing out two glasses and a bottle of wine. You cocked your eyebrow and he blushed more when he realised he hadn’t explained his actions.

“I thought we could celebrate your last tattoo session. And our new friendship.”

“I doubt it’ll be my last but sure.” You patted next to you as you shuffled across a bit, letting Sherlock sit in the space you had created. You two drank that night, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. When John came home, you had fallen asleep leaning against Sherlock, who was also asleep. John couldn’t help but gape at the sight and wonder about connection you had seemed to forge with Sherlock in the few hours you were here. Even he didn’t have that level of intimacy after living with him for months. He shook his head as he shed his coat and made his way up to his room, smiling slightly at the idea that his best friend now had another.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Your close friendship with Sherlock that had been made within a night wasn’t just lost on John however. After that day you had been in 221B nearly everyday. Mrs. Hudson was confused when you had first came knocking, asking if you could go up to the flat. She thought you were a client, following you up the stairs to show you in yet when you had opened the door and Sherlock let out a loud and excited greeting, asking you to see what you thought of his latest experiment, she jumped in shock, before sighing making you both some tea and asking you on how you had met Sherlock.

When you had joined Sherlock to a level five crime scene, after his insistent whining and pleading, Lestrade had dropped his coffee and choked on the sip he had taken, not expecting to see you ever again, let alone walking beside Sherlock in a pair of tight jeans and flowing singlet top, your healing tattoo wrapped in fresh bandages, thanks to Sherlock. Sally and Anderson, which Sherlock had told you about, had tried to stop you from entering the scene, even calling you a freak in the process, your wild now silvery-pink hair, tattoos and bandaged back unsettling them. Sherlock stood nose to nose with both of them after that remark, sending scathing truth after scathing truth at them, revealing their activities from the past hour before throwing his arm around your shoulder in a rare public display of affection and leading you inside, your arm wrapped around his waist.

After that day the whole of the Yard had speculated the extent of your relationship, trying to figure out how you two of all people even meet and who could possibly break through into the sociopath’s heart. You and Sherlock made a joke about it, feeding them more and more ‘evidence’ to their theories. You had both laughed for a solid hour after he had kissed the crown of your head, Lestrade saying that you had sent the entire Yard into a frenzy when you had left.

The only person (other than Sally and Anderson), who had not accepted your’s and Sherlock’s relationship was forensic pathologist, Molly Hooper. In fact, she had been one of the people who hadn’t accepted you at all. Oh she smiled when you were with Sherlock and treated you politely enough, though when Sherlock wasn’t in the lab with you, she turned cold and offensive to you, only replying to your questions in harsh tones and words and keeping to herself otherwise. At first you had tried to make friends with her, get to know her a bit but soon you realised that she wasn’t going to change her attitude towards you so you let her go. You remained kind, though you stopped talking to her unless it was necessary. Though you let her abrasiveness flow off you, it still hurt. You didn’t know why she acted like she did and when you had tried to talk to her, she had shut you out further and continued her research. You didn’t want to bother Sherlock with her pettiness so you kept it to yourself, letting it eat away at you for a couple of weeks.

After your back had healed enough, you texted Sherlock, asking if he wanted to see it. He had texted back straight away, saying that he would love too and that you should let yourself in as he was out picking up some Chinese and not to worry as he had ordered you some too. You sent back an emoji (which Sherlock usually hated but with you he adored them) of a happy face before you turned back to the full length mirror, your tattoo reflecting back so you could see. It was still hard to see it without having a photo but you could get Sherlock to do that tonight. You smiled as you got dressed and locked up your flat, walking the short distance to 221B and letting yourself into the flat. You walked up the stairs with a smile on your face until you heard a feminine voice fill the room as you stepped into the threshold.

“Sherlock, I need to talk to you abou- you’re not Sherlock.” Molly’s voice changed from serious though kind to dead flat in a matter of seconds when she realised it was you not Sherlock.

“No I’m not. Hi though Molly, Sherlock didn’t tell me you were here too.” You shuffled from foot to foot as the flat filled with tension. 

“That’s because he doesn’t know I’m here.” She crossed her arms and stood straight, offence and disgust in her posture. “You shouldn’t either.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me. You’re not good for Sherlock and should just keep away from him.” You shook your head as Molly spoke. You knew it wasn’t true but that doesn’t mean the words don’t sting anyway.

“Look Molly, I don’t know what I did to upset you but I’m sorry, I wouldn’t hurt Sherlock ever. He’s my friend.” 

“I don’t care what you think you are to him but you should just leave.”

“Molly!” You heard Sherlock’s voice erupt from behind you, anger laced within the single word so effectively that you could feel it within your body. He came to stand next to you, wrapping the arm not holding the food around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. You could feel tears starting to prick your eyes, a little out of relief, though a lot from Molly’s words.

“Sh-Sherlock! Listen we need to talk.” 

“No. No we don’t Molly. You need to leave. Now.”

“But-”

“NOW!” You had heard Sherlock yell plenty of times but never with so much rage in his voice. Molly flinched and gathered her stuff, her face red with the embarrassment of being caught saying such rude things to you. She walked past, sending you an irritated glare before descending the stairs and leaving the building. You sniffed and wiped under your eyes to try and hold back your few tears.

“Hey Sherl.” He dropped the bag and wrapped his arms tightly around you, rubbing your back soothingly and gently, still careful of your tattoo.

“I’m sorry. I knew Molly was jealous but I never thought she would talk to you like that. Ever.”

“I know Sherl it’s fine.” You sniffed again before you stepped back and smiled up at him. “Do you want to see my tattoo now?”

He smiled back down at you and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “I’d love too. Before or after food?”

“After. God how do you not know that yet?” He chuckled as he took off his coat whilst you picked up the bag and settled yourself cross-legged on the couch, opting to eat out straight out of the containers with a pair of chopsticks instead of gathering plates and forks. Sherlock had gone into the kitchen, grabbing one of your customary bottles of red wine and a pair of wine glasses. You two ate comfortably, talking about your day and asking Sherlock about the case he had had that morning (it was barely a three Y/N! They said it was a 7 at least!). When you had both finished, the flat turned dead quiet. You took a deep breath before you turned around, showing your back to Sherlock before you took off your shirt. You were comfortable enough with Sherlock to not feel self conscious as he studied your back (he did walk about in nothing but a sheet some days), even letting him touch the artwork that adorned your skin. You were most concerned about what he would think of the artwork. It was a large violin, the scroll of the violin being at the nape of your neck and the tailpiece and chinrest sitting on your lower back. The interesting thing was that this part of the violin was instead an image of the human spine. The strings followed down the spine and the body of the violin emerged from the bones, seemingly attached to your spine itself. The black and white violin rested on a bed of roses, matching those that surrounded the rabbit on your thigh. You swallowed as you broke the deafening silence that had blanketed the flat. “So? What do you think?”

“I-It’s beautiful. What does it mean?”

“You already know this but I love music and, well, before I met you, i-it saved me. I was in a bad place before I moved to Baker Street. I felt alone in the world after my brother passed and I wasn’t coping all that well, but listening to music gave me a reason to get up in the mornings. I chose the violin on a whim because it was one of the most symmetrical instruments and I thought it would look nice but, after meeting you… what I mean to say is... is that I think it represents you now.” You had put your shirt back on and turned around to face Sherlock after explaining, only to find that he had tears in his eyes. “Sherlock? Are you okay?” You had barely finished your question when you were engulfed in a bear hug from the man himself. “Hey, hey it’s okay.”

“It’s not! I don’t deserve to be represented in such a way. I’m not right for something like that!” You sighed and rubbed Sherlock's back as he had done earlier, tears streaming down you face now as you watched your friend break down.

“Sherlock listen to me. You are perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better friend in all my years and I am so glad that you were following me that night.” A watery laugh-sob escaped Sherlock's throat as he recalled the night. You giggled back through your own tears. You kissed his head before he sat back, a wide albeit quivering smile on his face.  
“I wasn’t following you I wa-”

“Was following the murderer, I know.” You nodded your head as you finished his sentence. You laughed as you leaned in for another hug. “I don’t know how long you are going to deny that you were following me, but I don’t care. I’m so grateful for that night Sherlock. You saved me.”

“Me too, Y/N. Me too.” You two sat together, entwined in each other’s arms, crying at first then laughing at your cliche-ness. You ended up staying over again that night, lying down on the couch as Sherlock lay behind you, his hand under your shirt tracing your tattoo’s pattern over and over until it was committed to memory, along with everything else about you. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget anything about you, he thought as you began to fall asleep. 

He wouldn’t be able to forget you, even if he tried. He couldn’t forget the person who had saved him from himself.


End file.
